


swallow your grief, crown your guilt

by gayzula



Series: by no means [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (mention at the end), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asriel Deserves Better, Chara Has Issues, Chara Survives But Asriel Does Not, Determined Chara, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Mental Instability, Non-Binary Chara, Other, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Pre-Undertale, Reader Is Chara, Suicide, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Why do I do this to myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayzula/pseuds/gayzula
Summary: You keep catching glimpses of him, in your dreams - but never seeing his face. Not his face, not his eyes, he's intangible, he's a ghost. He's ashes scattered in the wind. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone.  (He's ashes. You're wind.) You die, you live, he doesn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slavik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slavik/gifts).



> yo. since english isn't my first language, there might be some mistakes. if you find any, please let me know, so i can correct them. thanks!
> 
> enjoy the fic.

Death lasts eternity - you realize - and a fracture of a moment, both at the same time.

It's an odd feeling, almost ethereal - like the deep slumber that reaches out to you, not giving you any other choice, just embracing you tightly and holding you close to its chest, offering almost a comfort of sorts; or, perhaps, a certainty - and there are also moments that remind you of travelling between one dream and another, ever on the verge of awakening, but never fully falling over that edge between the two. And, like in a dreamscape, time fluctuates, sometimes a chilly waterfall, and other times, a density of a sweet honey.

Too, like being asleep, you cannot truly remember yourself. The thoughts are swarming in a cloud - almost touchable, but only barely - and the chaos of it feeds your hunger, feeds your _rage,_ and everything is--just too much and not enough. And the core essence of you is but a thin mist, slowly fading as the morning approaches.

Sometimes, you remember bits and pieces, though they don't exactly make sense to you. Still, though, those shards are something to hold on to.

Flashes--

\--ghosts of memories.

Faces - people - and lastly - words.

Names have power - hearing your own name called out - name, you didn't even remember before - grounded you in a way you have never felt before. (Or, perhaps, in a way you always felt--you can't be quite sure which of those it is.)

But it isn't until another name is heard by your mind an entire eternity later, that glues the rest of you together and makes you whole.

(At least on the surface.)

And then, the time starts making sense again - and there is burning in the emptiness, somewhere in the void, and you _know_ instantly, that there is something missing, but--

This feeling...

This burning...

It fills up the hole that was left in you. It doesn't erase the void, though - only merely connects the pieces and briefly ghosts over it, like a dream. It allows you to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out,...

... and open your eyes.

A loud exhale leaves someone's mouth - whose, you cannot quite make out, cannot quite remember - and your vision isn't sharp enough, nor is your memory, yet - then, a cry.

It takes a moment, to finally awaken, and the first thing you notice after the entire eternity (or, perhaps a mere fracture of a second) of your death is--

\--you are sitting in the ashes.

In _his_ ashes.

And you keep screaming and wishing you didn't open your eyes.

* * *

 

They have questions, of course they do.

Were you ever expecting something else? Why?

Why did you ever think, they'd just welcome you back like nothing happened, when _you killed your own brother?_

 _(They don't know about that,_ a rational part of you thinks. _They saw you get sick and die. They saw you miraculously resurrected, as their own son was turning into nothing. Into the ashes.)_

Dust and ashes seem to be the only constant of your life.

So you tell Asgore, the story of your death, omitting the fact, that everything was your fault (You cannot force those words out of your throat, and, truly, lies roll of your tongue _so much easier.)_ You leave out your suicide, you leave out your desire to wipe out the humanity, you leave out Asriel's last wishes.

(And you wonder what would he have thought of you, if he could have heard your Lie.)

Getting, to the part where you cheated death, "there was... no sense of self," you manage. _There still isn't, not really._ "But I remembered. Somehow, I remembered my name. And _his,"_ you refuse to speak it, as if afraid that your voice, your lips, your tongue could taint it. Poison it. "Then, everything came easy. As easy as breathing..." You're unable to meet Asgore's worried gaze - not while your own eyes are empty. "I was determined to. To breathe--that is. So I did." Pause. "I did and now I'm back."

Toriel is strangely silent, but Asgore's hand is clutched in fist, and when you finally look up, his gaze is full of the same fire - grief, that you want to feel inside your heart. And you know _just the thing_ to say.

"I'm back," you say, your voice unusually firm, "and _he_ died trying to fulfil my dying wish."

"Chara..." he whispers.

"I'm back," you repeat once again, "and... _Asriel_ is gone," you say, forcing his name out of your throat, but your voice didn't quite break. Thankfully.

"It isn't your fault, my child," Toriel looks at you with those sympathetic eyes of hers, and you _hate_ her for it.

Barking out a bitter laugh, "Right," and you have to remind yourself once again, that they don't know. They. Don't. Know. "It isn't."

"Chara. It was _not_ your fault. Asriel loved you very much."

_And that was his demise... wasn't it?_

"Yes."

"His death was the fault of the humans."

_Myself included. Even more so than the others._

"Of course."

Somehow, they hear something in your flat voice, something you aren't sure it exists. And, instead of letting go, they push even more, "you did not raise a weapon against him," which triggers a toxic explosion, somewhere in that void inside you.

Losing control, _"I might as well have!_ He did this for me, did this _because_ of me."

"Chara," Asgore repeats himself slowly. "It was _not_ \- your fault. Asriel loved you. Very much."

And he doesn't get it - _of course he doesn't_ \- and you want him to understand, but _don't._

And you feel responsible, but you blame the villagers, and you want to kill them--no, no. No, you want to _destroy_ them. Obliterate them. Eviscerate.  _E r a s e_ them. And you want to do the same to the rest of the humanity, and, to yourself.

So you tell him, "I'll avenge him," finding yourself surprised to see you believe your own words.

"You won't have to," he looks at you, and says in a quiet voice. "I am the king of this realm, and Asriel was my rightful heir. It is my duty--no, my honor--to punish those responsible and bring my son peace."

 _"Asgore!"_ Toriel gasps.

"Chara was the first human to fall, but they're one of us now. Should any of the others fall down, to the Underground as well, their fate shall not be as lucky." Then, a quiet mumble, "I won't let this burden fall on Chara's shoulders," perhaps too quiet to hear.

A sensation of a knife to a heart, when you hear his words, but you ignore the infernal battle that is taking place inside your guts. You focus on breathing, trying to make the air lighter, but it _doesn't work,_ and you think you're going to choke, and then there is yelling - " _Asgore Dreemurr! Do not dare use our son's death to justify your -_ sick _revenge on humanity! This is_ not _right, and you_ know _it!" -_ and something is swallowing your lungs whole - _"This is not just revenge, Toriel," -_ into the void - _"it is_ justice _for our kind! For our hopes and dreams!" -_ and you want to make it stop - _"We are not the beasts that the humans had made us out to be!" -_ make _everything_ stop - _"The kingdom lost her prince! To humans, no less!" -_ at once - _"I will_ not _let you kill aimlessly and distance yourself from the consequences--!" -_ and you just want to breathe.

 _Consequences,_ you think, _yes,_ those are what separates us, monsters, from gods.

* * *

 

Toriel leaves the next day and begs you to come with her, so you ask her, "why are you defending humanity?"

She frowns. "Isn't it obvious?"

You narrow your eyes - _doesn't she find them unnerving?_ a thought flashes through your mind - and shake your head.

"Well," she tells you, eyes strangely soft, "I met _you."_

You stiffen. _"That,"_ you snarl, a cold heat, "is _exactly_ why you should hate the rest of us."

Asgore would've flinched at you so casually including yourself with the rest of the humans, but it is clear to you now - it has been clear to you ever since you got Asriel killed - you and humanity are the same. _You_ are the epitome of humanity itself.

However, Toriel just smiles sadly. "You do not give yourself enough credit, my child."

(Something about the tone she addresses you reminds you of the day you fell down, and how she was the first person to ever call you her child, not her son or daughter, and how warm and grateful you felt that day, and the memory pushes you closer towards the edge.)

"No," you snap at her, meaning every word, "you just give me _too much."_

And there is something in that smile of hers, and in that flinch, when you bare your teeth furiously - like a rabid animal - that would normally make you feel guilty, that would cause a pang in your heart, but--

It's Asriel.

It's Asriel, and he's dead, and he's _her son._

How can she put his death aside to defend that rotten _thing_ that caused his death?

(How can she put his death aside to defend _you?)_

She was his _mother,_ damn it! _She_ should be the one to grieve the loudest! _She_ should be the one to thirst most for revenge! _She_ should be the one hit by his death of them all!

The kingdom is grieving. Asgore is losing his calm too! And you! You don't even know where to start putting the pieces of you together - or even if you _want to!_

The only thing that's been keeping your feet firmly on the ground, is your anger, your rage, your fury, and it's all boiling inside, spilling at random moments, exploding, tearing you apart - to which, you think, _good. Let it._

_Let it haunt me for the eternity I didn't get to spend dead._

_Let there be consequences._

And seeing Toriel acting so casually so soon after his death, so... _lovingly._ Offering _forgiveness..._

It makes you feel sick to your stomach.

So, promptly, you tell her, and all the venom is in your voice, "you make me feel sick to my stomach," and you regret it instantly, but _don't._

Upon hearing a muffled sob, but still refusing to look up, you can almost feel the disgust that Asriel would feel about you.

(Then you tell the little voice in your head that reminds you, _Asriel wouldn't. No matter what. He was too good, too innocent, to feel that about_ anybody, _even you,_ to shut the fuck up.)

Toriel backs away from you - you and your poisonous mouth - and, just like that, in a smoke of hot air, she's gone.

 _(It's not Asriel. That's you,_ the voice speaks up again and this time, you don't have enough fire in you to burn it out.)

* * *

 

Later, watching Asgore's heart breaking for the second time in a short while gives you one more reason to despise the very air you breathe.

A broken king ruling a broken kingdom full of broken people. Not far from a broken family.

* * *

 

You keep catching glimpses of him, in your dreams - but never seeing his face. Not his face, not his eyes, he's intangible, he's a ghost.

Perhaps, you muse between one dream and another, it is fitting, that way.

A punishment by a subconscious part of your mind wouldn't be a surprise, certainly.

He's a mist. He's a flash. He's fleeting. He's perishable. He's smoke. He's sound. He's ashes scattered in the wind. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

_(He's ashes. You're wind.)_

And when you wake up, you realize--

\--you can no longer recall him as he was, when he was his true self.

Instead, your memories carry the abomination you both became a part of, the abomination that tainted his sweet, forgotten self.

You remember him tall and mighty, and you're not sure if he used to be taller or shorter than you. You remember his dark and void eyes, but aren't sure what color they were before he absorbed your soul. (Brown? _Red?_ \--No, those are yours. You can't remember, you just _can't_ remember.) You recall the violet tunic, not the shirt you knitted for him. _(Toriel knitted for him? For both of you?_ Just _which one of you was it?!)_

You only remember his locket, same as yours.

So, when you wake up one night from a dream - a nightmare - full of hands and knives and spears and dust, you throw your locket somewhere - _anywhere -_ just - _away -_ to kill the last remnant of him in your heart.

(Not sure what you were expecting, perhaps a ghost of ease, or a sense of peace. Instead, you become emptier than ever, and the gravity doesn't loosen a single bit. Except it does, and it scatters you in every direction - the same way the wind scattered Asriel's remains.)

(And Asgore keeps dreaming of Toriel, and you became his only constant, only family, and, you can see it in his eyes - he's dreading the day a human falls down, because he knows he can never break his promise to you, no matter how much he might want to.)

* * *

 

When that day finally comes - too late for your taste and too soon for Asgore's - you remember only your guilt, crowned by grief you swallowed in a fit of rage and fury.

Gripping Asgore's trident, you stare into the fear written in their eyes and think, _good. I'll give you something to fear, alright._

When their guts spill all over your face, you feel _alive._


End file.
